The Lost Diaries of Dracula
by HappyKittens
Summary: This story begins close to modern times, after the failed attempt of Harker and the others to kill Dracula. It then flashes back, and Dracula writes about his experiences in England. My Vamp Lit teacher suggested the title.


I was just barely beginning to remember. Flashes of memories from long ago came and went, and I struggled with them, trying to keep them with me, trying to make sense of them. For the longest time, I was living off rats and mice and other small creatures whose types evade me. I can not remember anything clearly from this period. It had been years, perhaps centuries, since I formed a coherent thought. For a while, I was not even strong enough to kill the mice that I fed upon. Even the small ones fought me, evaded me. As for the state of my body, I could not tell you what I was. Vapor, animal, human. Nothing comes to mind. All I remember is the hunger. The more I drank, the stronger I got. Once I could kill the rats, I started preying on stray cats and dogs.

As I fed on these larger animals, I began to realize that I was human. Or, at least, something similar. Instead of spending my free time asleep, I spent it watching the human mortals. I knew that I would rather drink their blood than the blood of animals, but I had to struggle with stray dogs, for they fought back fiercely. A human would be much more difficult.

Once I could kill things like cows and horses without much trouble, I decided to kill babies and children. They did not struggle as much, but it is always noticed when a baby gets sick, much more than when cows and horses mysteriously die. They are harder to kill than other animals in this sense, but I suppose that is why I feed on them. Their blood is more sustaining anyway.

I was very weak still, and I fed sporadically, to avoid being noticed. The travel, too, took its toll on me and kept me from drinking. But the blood of a human was much more sustaining... satisfying... than the blood of any other animal, and not being able to feed often did not deter me. There is something about human blood that I cannot describe. It gave me glimpses of who I was. Who I am.

I had stolen a toddler, brought it out to the woods and fed on it. While I was taking in its blood, the very first memories came.

I remembered, vaguely, hazily, being killed. I was not sure if I was half conscious during the murder, or if the memory was not complete. I knew there was a knife through my heart, and I... ceased to be. Became dust, or dirt, or ash... much like a body after decomposing for years. I lost consciousness, I know I did. I forgot who I was, what I was, for years and years....

I let the body of the child fall beside me as I turn my attention to my memories.

They were all just fragments; a picture, a small sound, but not much else. I remembered women, a few who were beautiful and dressed finely, others who wore rags and were covered in dirt. There was one woman that stood out in my mind, but I did not know who she could be.

Another night, and an older child. More memories came to me.

I remembered a name. Dracula? I paused and considered it, holding the child in place even though it struggled. I did not think it was my given name, but something I used, after some large event. I did not know what this event was, but I knew I started going by Dracula after it.

I knew it was connected somehow with my given name, but I could not fathom what it was, just as I could not fathom what this event was. I knew it was something large, something important.

I gripped the child too tightly, and it ceased to move. I looked down, not really seeing the child. My thoughts were elsewhere. It was coming to me, the realization that I had the appearance of a human, but was not. I drank blood. I lived through death. I knew I was more than just a human, something better. I knew what it was for a moment, a brief understanding. I knew that if I fed more, I would understand once more.

More peasants, more memories. It was another child, grubby and lost, that I fed on. I only drank some of his blood before more memories flooded in. I set the body down and concentrated.

Despite my attempts, her name escaped me, but everything else about her I suddenly knew. She was... indescribable. From Transylvania, she was a wonderful, humble, loving, woman. Being so humble, of course, she would never admit how truly amazing she really was. She disliked wars, fighting, and killing, but she was smart. She understood and respected my need to fight for Wallachia, my country. It made her worried and sad to see me go, but she never said anything.

I knew how she was killed as well. They knew she was my weakness, and they knew she was loyal to me and my country. I remembered getting back from battle, finding a letter, torn in two, on our bed. She was nowhere to be seen. I could not recall how I found out. An attendant, perhaps, or a friend. Someone. Someone came to me as I read that letter, and told me that she jumped. I remembered looking up at the window, in a sort of... disbelief. How could something such as that happen? Did she really throw herself out the window? Did this rotten lie written on a sheet of paper really cause her to kill herself?

I was angry. I renewed fighting with much fervor. The rest of my years seemed so unimportant after that. I remembered marrying a different woman, and I remembered fighting, but only vaguely. All of these memories centered around this one woman, not anything that happened after her.

The first time I fed on an adult, a young man who appeared to be living alone in the woods, it came to me. Everything. I knew now what I was:

A vampire. That is what the people call being such as myself. I knew I was an immortal being that sustains itself by drinking blood, the blood of humans.

I spent a long time thinking about my powers. It was interesting, I thought, that my powers were gone during the day, and I was the same as the mortals I fed on. There was a lot I had learned over the years, through trial and error. I felt I had a good idea of what could harm me, and what things I could do. I also knew of mistakes I had made

. It is best to start at the beginning.


End file.
